


Truth and Consequence

by erebones



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Canon Compliant, Come Inflation, Comeplay, Established Relationship, F/M, Marathon Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Post-Time Skip, Pregnancy Kink, Side Effects, Trans Female Character, Trans Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, Truth Serum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:02:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28094340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erebones/pseuds/erebones
Summary: Claude has devised a truth serum to give to enemy spies and needs someone to help him test it. The only problem is, the serum has some... unintended side effects. Luckily Lorenz is up to the task of nursing him back to health.
Relationships: Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 5
Kudos: 120





	Truth and Consequence

**Author's Note:**

> not gonna lie this is half relationship feels and half claude just putting buckets of cum into lorenz ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ if that's not ur jam, turn back now friend. also feat. trans woman lorenz bc the world needs more of it. i use terms like "length" and "hole" to refer to her bits (and she has titties bc faith magic and bc i said so).

“Lorenz, I need you.”

“Oh how I love to hear those words.” Lorenz turns back to her vanity, picking up where she’d left off in her evening ablutions. “Unfortunately the answer is still _no_ , my dear.”

“No? But you haven’t even heard what I wish to say!”

She dabs her lips until the color lifts, coaxed from her skin by a cream of almond oil and rose water. “Is it not something to do with the speech you’re meant to give tomorrow to half of the Alliance?”

“Of course not. I finished that ages ago. Well, there are a few finishing touches to be made—”

“Ah-ha.”

“But the _bulk_ of it is done. No, this is far more interesting, I promise.” His reflection swans closer in the mirror, stroking some suspicious cylindrical shape hiding in his breast pocket. “This has to do with the expansion of my intelligence network. What was it you were saying the other day?” He puts the back fo his hand to his brow and lifts his voice a few steps. “Oh Claude, my dearest love, it is my greatest desire to service—I mean serve you and your cause—”

“Oh lay off.” She dabs a beeswax ointment onto her lips to soften them, and to hide the smile creeping traitorously across her face. “I suppose I did say something about wanting to be your right hand, even now that the war is won.”

“Just so.” Claude drops his hands to her bare shoulders, strong thumbs digging into the tension she carries there. She sighs and lets her head fall to one side. “Thus, I present you with a golden opportunity: I’ve finished concocting a new philter that will assist in questioning captured agents. All I need now is to test it on a willing subject.”

Lorenz’s eyes fly open. “A willing _what_? I am not your guinea pig, Claude von Riegan—”

“Shh, I know my love, I know.” He leans down, thumb grazing her nape, to kiss the side of her head. “I thought you might take umbrage, so. An alternative.” He reaches inside his breast pocket and withdraws a slim pipette half-filled with clear, viscous liquid. Lorenz would think it water, except that it clings to the glass walls and is slow to move when Claude wiggles the pipette back and forth in front of her. “I will administer the dose to myself, and we shall test the effects together.”

“What sort of _effects_ are you expecting?”

“It’s a truth serum,” Claude says promptly. His joviality dims a little as he meets her eyes in the mirror. “That is partly, and in fact the _only,_ reason I’m asking for your help. You’re the one person I trust to keep my secrets as close to your chest as your own. And if the serum should have any unintended effects, you’re strong enough to do whatever is necessary.”

“Whatever is _necessary_?” Lorenz echoes. She plucks the pipette from his fingers and turns in her seat to meet his gaze. “Claude, are you sure this is safe?”

“Quite safe, my dear.” He smiles in that reassuring way he has, eyes crinkled, the barest flash of a dimple in one cheek. “I only meant… if the truth-telling should go awry, or last longer than planned.”

Lorenz considers the pipette. “But how will I know if it works? I know a lot about you, Claude.”

“More than anyone in Fodlan, I daresay. But not everything.” Claude’s lips quirk. “I give you permission to ask whatever you wish; I only beg you not to hold the answers against me.”

Despite herself, a foreboding prickle travels down her spine. The true test here, perhaps, is not the serum itself, but whether she will ask the sort of question that could ruin Claude’s trust in her. She swallows. “Very well. How long before it takes effect? And… how long do you expect it to last?”

“If my calculations are correct, it should take effect within a few minutes, less if taken with food or drink, and last about an hour. Of course it depends on the strength of will of the recipient, so it may last more or less time. Likely less, in my case.”

“Quite.” She carefully passes him back the pipette and rises from her chair, pulling her dressing gown up over her arms and belting it snugly at the waist. “Very well. I will make us some tea while we wait.”

Claude nods. Then, without taking his eyes off her, he lifts the pipette to his tongue and swallows the contents.

Lorenz realizes she’s holding her breath, and feels rather silly when Claude only wrinkles his nose at the taste and sets the pipette aside with a shrug and a _well that wasn’t very pleasant going down._ Reassured that he hasn’t immediately become insane, catatonic, or dead, she moves about the room, tidying the bed for them to sit on and boiling water for tea.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, watching him like a hawk as he moves to sit on the bed. He’s still in full Duke regalia, except for his cape and sash. As she looks on, he loosens the collar of his doublet and strips the cravat from around his neck.

“A bit warm, but not uncomfortable.” He smiles. “That was an honest answer, but I don’t think it’s taken effect yet. Ask me something else.”

Lorenz bites her tongue. “What is the color of the sky?”

“Green.” Claude lifts an eyebrow. “Is that the best you have?”

“Why would I waste my best when you’re not even compelled to answer truthfully? All right.” She concentrates her attention on the kettle as she pours hot water into their cups. “Are you looking forward to tomorrow’s ceremony?”

“With all my heart,” Claude says dryly.

“I’m sure. What do you take in your tea?”

“I’m not lying about that, you’ll make my tea wrong. A touch of honey.”

Lorenz blushes. “Apologies; I didn’t mean for that to be a test.”

“As if you don’t know how I like my tea. Please.” He reaches out, accepting the cup when she offers it to him. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

“You’re welcome.” She touches his cheek briefly before fetching her own cup. “The color of the sky again, please.”

Claude inhales as if to answer boldly, then hesitates, a little wrinkle between his brows. “Currently, or what is generally accepted?”

“The latter.”

His lips twitch. Then, with some reluctance, “Blue. The sky is blue.”

Lorenz regards him anxiously. “Is it working? How do you feel?”

“Yes, it’s working. It’s very strange, but it’s not painful. I am _quite_ warm, however.”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t have served you tea,” Lorenz frets. “Should I open a window—?”

“No, no, please don’t trouble yourself. It’s only a mild discomfort.” Claude takes a deep breath and lets it out in a thin stream over the surface of his tea. “I’m at your disposal.”

Lorenz’s stomach is suddenly in knots. She holds both cup and saucer in her lap with no intention of drinking as she contemplates how to proceed. “What… what is your mother like?”

Claude blinks at her a moment as if confused, but answers readily enough with no apparent distress. “Intelligent. Clever. Careful with her words, even to her children. She is not beautiful. I don’t mean that in an unkind way—she is not an ornament. I think she considers herself a tool or a weapon before she considers herself a mother, shaping her world to her liking.”

Lorenz, taken aback, stares into her tea. “That’s… not quite what I was expecting.”

“Please don’t tell her I said any of that, when you meet her,” Claude laughs, but there’s an honest film of worry in his eyes. “I’ve never thought to phrase any of it that way; it sounds more brutal said aloud than in my head.”

“Do you miss her?” Lorenz asks quietly.

This time Claude does not answer right away. When he does, his voice is quiet, the corners of his mouth strained around the shape of the words on his tongue. “Yes. She was not the most… traditionally affectionate mother, but she taught me much. Her training has saved my life many times. At home and in Fodlan. She is the reason I can hide a poisoned knife against my skin and dance the _cotillion_ and use the proper fork at a state dinner.”

“I thought Nader was your trainer.”

“He was, for traditional weaponry. For everything else I had Maman.”

Lorenz isn’t sure how to parse his tone of voice. She takes a rattling sip of tea to steady herself and blurts out, “Have I upset you?”

“No,” Claude says immediately. He puts a hand on her knee. “I’m not used to talking about her, that’s all. Or… any of it. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to share that part of my life with you.”

“I’m sure you’d rather discuss it of your own accord,” Lorenz sighs, but she’s reassured by Claude’s answer nonetheless.

“This _is_ of my own accord. It was my idea, remember? C’mon, sweetheart, lay it on me. Ask me something difficult.”

“Do you miss Almyra?” Lorenz asks, hedging around a subject she’s been afraid to confront directly.

“Yes.” Claude tilts his head as if inviting her to press the subject.

“When… when will you return?”

“I don’t know for certain.” He grimaces slightly, shifting at the edge of the mattress. “Soon, I think.”

Her stomach drops unpleasantly. “Will you be taking me with you?”

“Lorenz.” He takes a deep breath. “All right, I suppose I asked for this. Listen, it won’t be forever, and I need someone I trust to maintain our momentum here in Fodlan—”

Lorenz stands abruptly and moves across the room to set her unfinished tea on the desk. Her hands are shaking too hard to hold the cup anymore.

“Lorenz. My love, come here.”

She turns to regard him. He’s sitting with shoulders slightly hunched, teacup discarded at the bedside table, lips pressed together as though in pain. It occurs to her that he hasn’t really answered the question. With a little bitten-back sound that is absolutely _not_ a sob, she goes to him and sinks to her knees on the rug, pressing her face to his thigh in supplication.

“I want to bring you to Almyra some day,” he says quietly. His fingers move in her hair, soothing and excruciating at the same time. “But there is so much still to do here—”

“Then why not stay and do it?”

“Because Almyra needs me.”

“Almyra has a king,” Lorenz bites out, wiping angrily at her eyes. “Do you intend to stage a coup? Depose your own father?”

“Of course not. I intend to stand at his right hand and advise him on foreign affairs. With Fodlan, and with Leicester specifically. We are neighbors, after all.” A soothing thumb traces the edge of her hairline. “And for that I will need a strong leader to take Leicester in hand, make her the great country I know she can be.”

Lorenz shuts her eyes. Logically it makes the most sense—they can accomplish more, reach greater heights this way. But that doesn’t mean her heart isn’t aching fit to crack in half. “When were you going to tell me?”

“After the ceremony tomorrow.”

“Will you miss me?”

“Every day.”

Her chest constricts, and something ugly rises in her, an unkind impulse that wants to guard against heartbreak by lashing out. “Do you love me?” she asks, sitting back to look into his face.

“Lorenz.” He looks terrible, suddenly—not uncomfortable, but desolate, as though he’s just learned of some great tragedy. Lorenz swallows bitter guilt and wishes she could take it back, but it’s too late.

“I love you with my whole heart,” Claude whispers, reaching to cup her cheek in his hand. “You are my moon and stars, the garden of my life. To live without you by my side will be torture. To sleep without your head on my pillow will be like sleeping on a bed of coals each night. But I love my people, too. On both sides of the border. And I know that you feel the same—it’s part of the reason I adore you so fervently. You know this.”

At once chastised and overflowing with emotion, Lorenz nods and buries her face in his knee to hide from him. “Forgive me,” she whispers.

“There is nothing to forgive. I should have made my intentions clear from the start.” He sighs, shifting slightly beneath her, but when she tries to move away, he strokes her hair in a little _you can stay as long as you like_ motion. “I was too flippant with this experiment. I’m sorry to have hurt you, beloved.”

“I am sorry I doubted you.” Lorenz accepts the handkerchief he passes her and dabs her cheeks and nose. “I’m still not happy about it, but… I understand.”

He kisses the top of her head. “The sooner we transform our world, the sooner we can be together again. Come. Sit with me.” Claude helps her up and smiles when she burrows into his arms, tangling their legs together at the edge of the mattress. He really is quite warm; when she kisses his cheek the skin feels rosy beneath her lips, and his ribs seem to hold a small hearth beneath his sternum.

“I love you,” she murmurs against his lips, hand to his chest. Her fingers are cool against his bare skin—when had his doublet come undone? She leans back, turning her head when he tries to kiss her. “Claude, how are you feeling?”

“A bit toasty,” he admits, “but not bad. Um.”

She lifts an eyebrow. “Tell me honestly, now.”

“I—” He swallows a giggle and brushes a strand of hair from her cheek. “Honestly, ah, a bit strange. Like…”

“Like?”

The room is dim but not dark, and her eyes are perfectly adjusted. She can see now, close up, the way his pupils have expanded, his bright irises darkened to deep evergreen. The flush in his face suddenly makes sense.

“Claude,” she murmurs, “are you aroused?”

“Yes,” he breathes. “It is quite—er, poor timing, I don’t…”

“The serum. An unintended side effect?”

“It must be.” He blinks rapidly as though trying to regain control of himself. “It’s not painful, but it is definitely, er, intensifying.”

Lorenz glances at his lap, attempting to be discreet; but there’s nothing discreet about the shape of Claude’s manhood in his trousers. Despite the raw edges of her emotional state, she can’t help snickering into the back of her hand. “Oh dear. I suppose I should go and fetch Manuela—”

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” Claude yelps, clutching her around the waist as she pretends to move away. “She’ll only laugh, and justifiably so.”

“Nonsense. If it’s uncomfortable, dearest, I don’t want you to be in pain.”

“You’re teasing me,” he accuses. He grits his teeth but waves her off when she tries to take his hand. “No, I’m all right. It will pass.”

“Is there nothing I can do?” Lorenz asks, amusement tempered with concern. It certainly serves him right to endure a little discomfort, after everything he’d kept from her, but she still dislikes seeing him so ill at ease. She puts her hand to his thigh and massages the taut muscle there. “Perhaps a little… relief?”

“No, no. This was my idea and my failing; I can endure it.” Despite his noble words, Claude looks distinctly… enflamed. He squirms where he sits and his breath catches in his chest as Lorenz moves her hand up his thigh. “Oh…”

Lorenz feels an answering flush rise under her own skin in sympathy. “Poor dear,” she murmurs, pressing her cool hand to his cheek. “Lay back.”

“Lorenz, I can’t—I don’t deserve—”

“Shhh. Nonsense! You deserve whatever I wish to give. That includes relief from pain, if I have any say in the matter.”

“I’m not… in pain,” he manages to get out, even as he allows her to situate him back against the pillows. “I’m just…” He croaks an undignified laugh. “Gods, this is ridiculous. Please, just lay with me a little while. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“You are impressively coherent for someone in your state.” Lorenz helps him out of his doublet and boots, hanging the former off the back of her vanity chair and situating the latter by the door. “Scoot over, dearest.”

Claude does so, and she crawls into bed next to him to lay against his side. His body is still very warm, nearly feverish, and his heartbeat rises to meet her hand as she strokes his chest, bared by his open collar. She nuzzles in beneath his jaw, kissing where his pulse leaps beneath the skin. His next breath is ragged in her ear, and his hands grip hungrily at her waist before forcibly relaxing.

“You can touch me,” she murmurs. She lifts up on one elbow, pointedly tugging her dressing gown open. At this angle her breasts slip readily from the low, lacy neckline of her chemise, and Claude lets out a broken sound and reaches for her.

“Not fair,” he mumbles. His hands are clumsier than usual, but no less hungry as they squeeze at her nipples until they’re stiff and rosy. “Gods, you are gorgeous.”

“There’s no sense in suffering needlessly.” She swings astride his lap and leans over him to let her breasts brush his cheek, his lips. He moans and opens his mouth for her, tongue dragging cool paths along heated skin. “Just enjoy yourself.”

Her dressing gown slips easily from her shoulders, and Claude tugs the straps of her chemise until it pools around her waist, leaving her top half entirely exposed. She can feel his erection straining against her backside, and she gives a little experimental rock of her hips just to hear him yelp. “You’re a menace,” he breathes.

“You’re welcome,” she says tartly. She slides her hands over his, encouraging him to feel her, to admire the soft give of her breasts. They’re the part of her anatomy she enjoys most, and she likes it when Claude enjoys them too.

Claude writhes beneath her and is slow to subside, red-faced and panting. “Can I…”

“Anything. Do you want my hand? My mouth? My thighs?”

“Yes—gods, fuck, all of it. _Guh_.” He sits up suddenly, nearly dislodging her, to smother kisses against her throat. “I can hardly think, it’s so oppressive. I just need to get off and get it over with.”

“All right, easy.” She cups his face in her hands, feels the prickle of his beard against her palms. “Lay back. No pulling on my hair.”

“Y-yes ma’am.”

With the muscle twitching in his jaw, Claude lays back down and tangles his fists in the sheets, watching as she kneels between his legs and unlaces his trousers perfunctorily. There is no room for foreplay—he’s already at the limit of his patience, and she only wants to relieve his need. His manhood springs from his smallclothes as if with a mind of its own and Lorenz gives it a few slow, squeezing strokes to take the edge off before bending and putting it in her mouth.

Claude hollers like he’s been dunked in hot water. Lorenz pulls off immediately to stare at him. “Sorry, sorry,” he gasps, voice buckling with hysterical laughter. “It just feels so fucking good, like—insanely good. So good it hurts.”

“Should I not…?”

“No, please. Please.” The last edges of his sanity are wearing away before her very eyes; he begs like he’s begging for his life. With a kernel of worry burrowed between her ribs, Lorenz bows her head again and slides her mouth onto his shaft.

The head is already slick-sour with precum, more than usual. It coats her tongue as she bobs her head, focusing on tight lips and suction. The sooner she can get him to spend, the better off he’ll be. And it won’t take long, by the sound of it—he’s trying to be quiet, but each breath sounds labored and his hips jerk against her mouth like a horse trying to escape the bit. He fucks into her throat a few times before she’s ready for it, choking her, but she just pins his hips down with her nails dug deep and swallows around him anyway.

When he spends it’s with a great, strangled cry and a burst of bitterness that she struggles to swallow down. He doesn’t ejaculate an inordinate amount, usually, but this time it just keeps coming, filling her mouth and painting her lips when she doesn’t swallow fast enough.

When it’s over, she hastily wipes the spend and tears from her face, not wanting him to mistake overstimulation for actual grief or discomfort. Beneath her, Claude’s legs sprawl out and his belly rises and falls beneath his half-unbuttoned shirt, cock-stand proud and glistening red. His bollocks are still drawn up taut beneath in their nest of dark curls. Lorenz cups them in her hand experimentally and finds them heavy, as though he’d never spent at all. Claude twitches at the contact, and a bead of fluid wells up and drips down his turgid shaft.

“Beloved?” she murmurs hoarsely. She rubs her hand along his hairy thigh, trying to coax him from his stupor. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yes… and no.” He rubs his face, then lets his arms flop against the mattress as he looks down the length of his body. “It’s still there.”

“I know it felt like it, but I promise I didn’t actually swallow your cock,” Lorenz admonishes. She rescues Claude’s abandoned teacup from the bedside table and gulps down its tepid contents to soothe her throat.

“I’m sorry, dearheart. Did I hurt you?” Sluggish but determined, he sits up and pulls her into his arms, kisses her neck, her cheek.

“It’s not your fault.” She lets her hands fall to his chest, pushing the halves of his shirt farther apart to touch him. Despite the bizarre situation, she can’t help admiring her lover, the breadth of him, the hair curling darkly on his chest and stomach.

“Still.” He inhales when she passes over a nipple, lower lip caught between his teeth. “I… I can take care of it myself. I just feel… I don’t know how to describe it.”

“But you’re not in pain?”

“No. If I am, it’s a good pain. A strange, good pain.” He kisses her mouth, more gently than he had before. “Can you fetch the oil for me?”

“Mm.” She slides out of bed and lets her chemise slither to the floor in a rumple of silk. She keeps a few different oils in her vanity for different purposes; for this she selects a plain, unscented safflower blend, her favorite for intimate use. When she turns back around with the bottle in hand, Claude’s eyes trail over her and he gives a low whistle.

“C’mere, baby,” he murmurs, shedding the rest of his clothes to the ground. “I didn’t realize this was doing it for you.”

“I admit this isn’t our usual style of foreplay, but can you blame me for being so affected?” She spares a drizzle of oil for him and takes some for herself, placing the uncorked bottle carefully on the bedside table. “Besides, this may very well be my last chance to make love to you.”

Claude sighs and pulls her close. “I’m not leaving tomorrow, Lor.”

“Are you not?”

“No! And I’m not going anywhere at all if I can’t get this bloody—serum to wear off!” He gulps, hand slowing on his cock as he watches her reach between her thighs to massage her hole. Claude takes her fairly often, and after her hot bath earlier she’s already clean and relaxed enough for two fingers. “Lorenz…”

“What?” She bites her lip and moves her wrist more precisely as arousal grips her insides. “Do you not want to fuck me?”

The casual expletive startles a groan out of him—she doesn’t usually use such vulgar language, not unless she’s in the thick of lovemaking. He twists oil all along the length of his cock and lets it slap against his thigh as he crawls between her legs.

“Let me,” he murmurs. Her fingers slide free and his press in, splitting her open. His tongue curls inside her mouth like his fingers inside her body, precise, practiced. She moans and lifts her knees to welcome him closer.

“How long?” he asks as he works in a third finger. She doesn’t have to ask what he means.

“As long as you need.” Lorenz plays idly with her length, watching him watch her. “I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”

“Promise?”

“Swear it on the goddess.”

Claude’s slow smirk is almost as good as his fingers against her sweet spot. “You don’t believe in the goddess.”

“Mmmmm. I suppose you’ll just have to trust me then.”

“I do.” His smirk fades, leaving only dark, serious eyes that melt her insides. “With my life. With my heart.” He drags three fingers out of her and tips more oil into his hand. “I love you, Lorenz.”

“I know.” She lets him sling her knees over his shoulders and gives a great, gusty sigh of relief as he pushes into her in one smooth slide. “And I you, against— _ah!_ —my better judgement. Come _on_ , Claude, I want to feel you now.”

“Bossy,” he says, breathless, curls hung over his gleaming forehead like a crown knocked askew. But he obeys, lacking his usual graces—there is no gentle period, no easing her into it. He fucks her hard enough to rattle the bedframe against the wall, hard enough that his swollen bollocks clap against her backside with every thrust. She’s nearly folded in half as he bends over her, pressing her deeply into the mattress as he tests the limits of her flexibility. “Sweetheart,” he gasps, after a minute or two of this. “Can I—”

“Inside,” Lorenz commands him, palm to the cusp of his jaw. It’ll take a little more to get her there, but she won’t begrudge him relief. “Give me your seed, love.”

His brow crumples and his mouth drops open, but his pace doesn’t slow. Not even when she swears she can feel him emptying inside of her, pulse after pulse of spend filling her the way he’d filled her mouth a few minutes before. His rhythm slows and stretches, but does not stop. When his eyes open they’re still dark and hungry.

“Again?” she murmurs.

“Yes.” He leans down and brushes a kiss to her forehead. His hips undulate slow but strong, as inexorable as the tide. “Just a little more.”

“As much as you need,” she reminds him. She arches her head against the pillows to stretch her sore neck, massaging her own breasts. The stretch of his member inside her is a familiar comfort, particularly when he leans back and changes the angle to rub against her sweet spot with every thrust. “Oh,” she whispers, eyes flying open. Claude is grinning down at her, heavy-eyed—he knows what he’s doing to her. “Oh, Claude…”

“I love you,” he croons, palms to her inner thighs as he pushes her hips wider. “I love fucking you and your tight little pussy—”

“ _Claude_.” She squirms, trying to cover her face, but she can’t escape his hands, his cock driving into her so deeply she can practically feel him in her guts. She tightens around him instinctively as her body throbs with imminent orgasm. “Claude, please, _oh_ —”

“Come for me, sweetheart.” His teeth are brilliant white against his sex-flushed mouth, eyes glittering like dark jewels as he watches her writhe beneath him. “Let me feel you.”

Her toes curl and her back arches when it hits her, hole squeezing so tightly that Claude’s manhood seems to swell until it’s the size of his forearm—a trick of her own anatomy, but it’s enough to send long, gleaming ribbons of ejaculate all the way to her throat, spattering her ribs, her breasts, pooling in her navel. She doesn’t realize Claude is coming too until it’s over and he’s there, bent over almost as if in pain. This time, perhaps due to postcoital tenderness, she can feel him pulsing inside her, spilling hot gouts of seed in what will later seem an absurd amount; but right now it’s all she can do to breathe, oddly short in the lungs as though she’s just run a great distance without stopping.

“All right?” he gasps, still trembling with the aftershocks. His cock still stretches her admirably, and she has a feeling, looking at him, that the serum still has him in its grip.

“Amazing.” She shifts on the mattress with a little grimace. “A bit… a bit sore, would you mind changing positions?”

“Of course, love, anything.” He eases back a little, then rocks forward again like he can’t help it, clumsily seeking stimulation. “How—how do you want it?”

“From behind. I’d like to lay on my side.”

He withdraws as requested, and though there’s a little bit of warmth leaking out of her as she turns, he’s back inside her with his belly to her spine before too much can escape. A little twinge of wanting grips her, even though she’s already spent, and she wonders how much more he has to give. Or perhaps the better question is: how much more can she take?

“Good?” he murmurs against her shoulder. “It’s not too much?”

“It’s perfect,” she sighs, and laces her fingers with his on her hip. In truth she’s a bit sensitive, but not in a bad way, and this angle makes it easier to take the full breadth of his cock without strain.

His next peak comes on quicker, and this time she doesn’t bother asking. She just lays there, warm and sweaty and a little raw, as he catches his breath before picking up the pace again. He grows quieter, too, though he still murmurs sweet things into her hair, or bites curses into the back of her neck whenever he spends. After a little while she feels herself growing aroused again, and she takes herself in hand, stroking in time with Claude’s thrusts.

“Goddess,” Claude slurs at last, his mouth a wet smear of heat against her shoulder blade. “I—I think it’s nearly done, I just…”

She reaches back with her free hand and tangles it in his hair. “You can keep going, love.”

He gasps a desperate laugh. “Thank you, but I’m not sure I can.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ugh.” He holds her against him instead of answering, arm snug around her waist. The pressure against her lower abdomen makes her feel strangely full, as if she’d just eaten a sizeable meal; but dinner was hours ago, and she used the water closet before Claude arrived. “I’m tired,” he sighs at last, sounding pinched. Like he didn’t want to admit to it. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t complain when you’ve been taking my fucking battering ram without complaint—”

“ _Claude_ ,” she interrupts, startled into laughter. “It’s all right. Lay back. Let me.”

He does, cock slipping fully out of her for the first time in nearly twenty minutes. The first thing she feels is the emptiness, the slack stretch of her hole instinctively clenching around nothing. The second is the _heaviness_. Lying down had masked the sensation, but as she swings astride him and lowers herself into his lap, speared upon his manhood once again, her abdomen feels taut and swollen. She puts a hand to her navel and bites her lip.

“Lorenz?” He gazes up at her with exhaustion in his face, lips bitten red, cheeks as flush as two roses. “Are you in pain?”

“No… no.” She rocks in his lap experimentally and gasps to feel a mild cramp seize her from within before subsiding. “Well—a little, but I can bear it.” She fumbles for his hand and presses it to her stomach. “Let’s just say, if I were able, I think tonight you’d have put a babe in my belly.”

“Mmmm.” He smiles wide and lazy, massaging her abdomen—usually all but flat, now distinctly swollen, rounded and taut with his spend. “I like that idea.”

She flushes hot and her hips stutter in place, caught unawares. “You… you do?”

“Yes.” His answer is simple and barefaced, and she realizes the truth serum still has him in its grip in more ways than one. Despite the arousal simmering inside her, a twinge of disappointment rises to quell it.

“You know that I can’t—”

“Lorenz.” He sounds almost stern as he catches her hands in his, sweaty and bare-chested beneath her, cheeks bruised with yesterday’s stubble. “What are you afraid of?”

And even though _he_ is the one who can tell no lie, truth rises her to her lips and spills out unchecked. “You, leaving me. And not coming back.”

“You know that I must leave. But I _will_ return for you, I swear it. And we will have ten—nay, a _hundred_ children, by whatever means we deem fitting, and I swear by all the gods to love you for the rest of our days.” He smiles then, at long last, the barest twitch of his lip, a bright spark in his eyes that she would recognize a hundred years from now, a hundred thousand miles away. “Is that acceptable to you, dearheart?”

Her eyes prickle unfairly. “Yes.”

“And is it all right, that I like the _idea_ of putting you in a family way?”

The emphasis is not lost on her. Lorenz swallows hard, trepidation traded for a slow, sticky heat that blooms in her pelvis like a flower. “Yes.” She hesitates and adds at a whisper, “I like it, too.”

Claude’s lazy smile seems to smolder at the edges and he trades her hands for the curve of her waist, the slight swelling of her abdomen. “Good. I’d really like to fuck you now, if that’s all right.”

“ _Please_.”

She can tell the serum is almost worn off by the way he handles her: gently, cradling her in his arms as he lays her down on the bed without a shred of impatience or desperation. His cock in her is still rock hard as he sways into the cradle of her hips, but his grip is careful, his lips on her red-bitten nipples soft and attentive. When he fucks her, it’s at an angle more precisely to give her pleasure rather than himself; but he still moans into their kisses, still shudders when her nails drag fine pink lines down his shoulders and chest.

“I’m close,” she whispers, because he likes that sort of thing, and because she likes to watch the expression of cocky masculine pride mingled with tender awe unfold across his face. She puts a hand to her lower belly and swears she can feel him, feel the apex of every thrust against her palm. His keen eyes track her movement and the next snap of his hips practically lifts her off the bed. “ _Claude—_ ”

“Can you take it?” he growls, and the hair on her arms lifts, skin tingling as if flooded with static electricity. “You’re so full of me already, fuck, look at you—so full you’re practically bursting.”

Lorenz squeezes her eyes shut, afraid that the look of him, dark-eyed and possessive, will bring her off before she’s ready. “Please.” She arches her back and whimpers at the next thrust, the hot, wet slide against her already much-abused sweet spot. “Please, Claude, let me feel you, let me have you one more time.”

His mouth on her neck steals the words from her lips, but not the noises. She wails at the pace he sets, at his hand on her length, squeezing and massaging mercilessly as her internal muscles begin to tighten. The flex of imminent orgasm makes the fullness even more evident, and just the thought of it, the thought of all his spend straining the limits of her body, sends her over the edge with a short scream and a mouthful of muscled shoulder as she bites down in ecstasy.

He stills when he spends a few moments later, head bowed, his face a rictus of something not quite pleasure and not quite pain. The last shudders of her peak are still rolling off her like snowmelt, but she can feel the hot pulsing inside, just like before. Then, with a convulsion that rocks the bed, he finishes and sags away, knees trembling, cock slowly going soft against her thigh.

“All right?” she murmurs when she’s caught her breath. He nods against her shoulder, mute but not unmoving; his arm lifts and he drags his hand through her own spend to stroke his knuckles against her belly.

“You?”

She takes a moment to evaluate. She’s exhausted, in that delightful carnal way Claude exerts over her, but doubled, even tripled, from their usual antics. Every limb feels strained as after a good spar, and her breasts are still chilled with damp and tingling from his attentions. All those are rather the norm—even her hole, stretched and sore and hot, is not unaccustomed to this kind of treatment.

The difference is low in her belly, in the cradle of her hips. She’d felt full before, but their final bout has her stretched near to bursting, a pleasant ache that makes her want to clamp down, keep it inside until it takes. Her hand finds his on her navel, and he presses down. She bites her lip.

“I can’t—I can’t keep it in,” she whispers. Her face flushes hot at the admission, but Claude’s lazy post-coital look goes hot and intense, and he summons the strength to situate himself on his belly between her legs.

“It’s all right, darling.” His arm circumnavigates her hip, hand finding her belly again. His lips brush coaxingly to her inner thigh, still damp with sweat. She has no illusions as to what he sees: her spent flesh, her skin shiny with oil, her slack hole still puffy with abuse and leaking a thin trickle of his own seed. From the look on his face, he’s thoroughly enjoying the tableau. “Let it out for me. You must be uncomfortable.”

Her belly, subtly rounded from this perspective, gives a faint twinge deep inside as if in agreement. “But the sheets—”

“Here.” He fishes his castoff shirt from the edge of the bed and wads it beneath her hips. “Come on, love. Let me see how well I filled you up.”

It’s more difficult than she expected. Despite her loosened muscles, the tension in her pelvis and the slight lift provided by the shirt demands active effort to coax even a small amount of sticky seed from her body. Lorenz winces and pushes past the embarrassment as a little more spend leaves her body. Then, once it begins, it’s impossible to stop. Claude’s hand massaging her only aids the process—the gentle pressure eases the strain and sets things in motion until she hardly has to push at all.

“That’s my girl,” Claude croons, as though she’s performing some admirable task instead of expelling his seed. His praise is honey-sweet to her ears regardless, stark counterpoint to the vulgarity of the act, and she trembles, strung tight as a wire and raw with insistent, improbable arousal.

“There,” she gasps at last, every muscle loosening at once. The fullness has eased, and her belly lays flat again beneath Claude’s coaxing hand. She fears to even consider what a mess she’s made of Claude’s shirt, but he only bundles it aside and kisses her navel before rising to kiss her lips.

“Beautiful.” He strokes a few strands of hair back from her sweaty face and kisses her temple. “Feeling better?”

“Yes,” she replies, even though there was nothing really to feel better _from_. In truth, she thinks she’ll be feeling the effects of tonight well into tomorrow, unless she’s inclined to visit Manuela for a salve. She doesn’t think she will. Then, catching the faint tremble of Claude’s supporting arm, she reaches for his face and asks, “But what of you? Are you well?”

“I’m well. Very, very well indeed.”

Lorenz looks into his eyes, heavy-lidded with exhaustion but crinkled at the edges with fine humor. “And the serum?”

“Well and truly expunged, I think.” He gives the soiled shirt a pointed look and Lorenz sputters, covering her face with her hands. “But you could always test that theory. Ask me something. Anything.”

Lorenz peers up at him from between her fingers. “Do you love me?” she murmurs.

Claude gives her a warm, indolent look. “I know that trick. The answer is yes, serum or no.” He kisses her lips briefly. “With all my heart. Ask me something else.”

“Hmm. What color is the sky?”

He laughs. “Oh, dearheart, it’s whatever color you wish. Green, blue, purple, orange—”

His ridiculous parade of colors tumbles to a laughing halt as she pulls him down against her, kissing the rainbow off his lips. “You’re nonsensical,” she tells him a little while later. “And you _scared_ me, please don’t do something like that again. What if you’d been seriously injured?”

“I may have miscalculated a few things,” Claude admits, “but in the end, no permanent harm was done, eh?” He tightens his arms around her and nuzzles a placating kiss to her neck. “And you made a very fine nurse.”

“ _Hmph_. I hope you are never treated thusly by a medical professional.” Lorenz kisses him anyway, and hums at the taste of his tongue in her mouth. He’s very thorough, as he is with everything; by the time he pulls away she feels made of lead, sinking into the pillows with heavy eyes and a slow, satiated heart. “I love you,” she whispers.

“And I you.” Despite the weariness in both of them, Claude remains propped up, looking down at her with a small furrow in his handsome brow.

“What is it?”

“What we talked about before…”

Her chest constricts slightly. “About children? Or about your imminent return to Almyra?”

“Yes. Both. Well, mostly the latter, but… all of it, really.” His hand is soft against her cheek. “Our future. The things that might be possible, if you wanted it.”

“Tell me about it tomorrow,” she murmurs coaxingly. A bit of that fresh grief rises up in her throat, but she swallows it down and tugs him to her. “For tonight you’re entirely mine, and I’m determined to be selfish.”

“Whatever my dear lady wishes.” He smiles to cover up the sadness in his voice, but she can hear it anyway, even when words are turned to sighs of pleasure as she kisses his mouth, his jaw, his throat. “Lorenz…”

“Sleep with me tonight. I know we agreed not, but—”

“Shhh. Of course I will.” He snuggles in behind her and drapes his arm over her shoulder. His skin to hers is so warm that she doesn’t even feel the lack of a blanket. “Every night. For as long as I can.”

Lorenz laces her fingers through his and shuts her eyes. She can feel him breathing, each inhale deep and slow against her back, heartbeat thudding subtly in his chest. Such a strange and comforting thing, the body of another person. She thinks she would let him do whatever he liked to her and never be uncomfortable or afraid. Then she flushes to think of the possibilities and pulls his arm tighter.

“Goodnight,” Claude says against the nape of her neck. He sounds like he’s smiling—as if he had heard the inner trajectory of her thoughts, however impossible. “Dream sweetly, and wake smiling.”

Lorenz mumbles some reply, already half-asleep. She barely even feels the kiss brushed against her spine. But that gentle touch follows her into sleep, and she dreams of Claude’s hand on her back and his voice in her ear as they survey the vast lands of the continent far below their feet, watching them grow green and thrive until every corner of the map is alive and brimming with possibility.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading, i hope you enjoyed! i have less experience with writing trans women in sexual situations, so i'm more than happy to receive constructive criticism. don't be shy, comment moderation is only on to foil the transphobes. <3
> 
> also, to clear my conscience, i tried to a) not make a whole weird sob story around lorenz wanting to have kids, and b) hint that various surgeries and other medical options are probably available in almyra, but it was awkward to work that into text in a clear and concise way, so you'll just have to imagine that conversation happening the next day.


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